


the heart is deceitful above all things

by setosdarkness



Series: OTP Collection - JuHaku [27]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: JuHaku Week, M/M, prompt: loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setosdarkness/pseuds/setosdarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loves HIM so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart is deceitful above all things

•••

He loves him so.

He wakes up in the morning earlier than everyone else, a practice borne out of necessity. He wakes up before sunlight pierces the dark sky overhead, clouds dark and ominous around a certain part of the world where god reached out and tried to destroy everything. He wakes up with sadness heavy in his limbs and hope light in his heart.

He wakes up while he doesn't.

And that's fine with him.

No, it actually isn't, but thinking of things being fine is a mentality borne out of necessity.

He rises from his makeshift bed of twigs and leaves, while carefully brushing off anything else that sticks to his black robes. He rises with only a soft grunt of pain from a night of discomfort, but it's a better bed than what he had in weeks. He rises so he can kneel beside him and brush the other's bangs off his face, finds the other's temperature cool but not alarming.

He leaves him in his makeshift cocoon of blankets and robes, the only things left of his life of comparatively lavish treatment.

He doesn't go far, because even now, especially now, he doesn't trust himself to not break down if the other is not within his reach. He walks slowly towards the shallow river that he found just before setting up camp yesterday. He kneels down by the moist earth, carefully keeping his pants away from any streaks of mud.

He sees his reflection: long, unkempt hair just past his shoulders, a huge scar by his left eye, burn marks on his face and neck. He reaches out to dissolve his reflection in the too-clear water, scooping up a fair amount and washing his face with it. His barely-moving left hand trembles at the cold temperature.

He has already filled their canteens with water yesterday night. He has already discarded anything else that might give their position away to their pursuers. He has everything taken care of.

There's no more magic in this world, which is probably the best for everyone else.

The lack of magic is very inconvenient for him though, because his left hand has very little mobility now. He's not sure if he can even properly call it a hand at this point.

He disturbs his reflection on the water when the ripples settle down. He sighs as sunlight starts to rise higher from the distant horizon, making his reflection clearer and clearer. He stands up, brushing off any dirt that might have clung to him.

He returns immediately to his side, wiping his cold hands against the cloth of his pants, before pressing those hands against the other's temple. He doesn't twitch from the touch. He just keeps on breathing that same peaceful rhythm.

He has always been very vibrant. He has always been very powerful. He has always been in his sight.

He keeps his breath very still as he listens for the tell-tale sounds of hooves against the mountain's terrain. He doesn't hear anything aside from the chirping of birds, the cluttering of squirrels, the humming of cicadas. He looks at him and thinks that despite everything, he still loves him so.

He brushes his hair carefully, reverently. He has always found his hair very captivating, silky locks that are well-maintained despite the busy chaos of their lives. His hair grows longer and longer still.

He doesn't want to cut it, because he has this idea that he will only put a stop to that growth once he wakes up.

He braids the long locks of charcoal black hair, his hands that used to be unfamiliar with this kind of menial work now moving almost without any thought, expertise borne out of necessity. Once done, he cups the other's doll-like face, commits the unearthly porcelain-like softness of his cheeks to his shaking palms.

He loves him so.

"Please wake up," he pleads, day after day after day. He used to count the days but he has run out of numbers for the days that he had waited. "Please wake up."

He doesn't wake up.

And that's fine with him.

No, it actually isn't, but thinking of things being fine is a mentality borne out of necessity.

He reasons that it's no good if the other wakes up now anyway.

The world is still in chaos, still recovering from being nearly wiped out when Il Illah reached out with its dark tendrils and eliminated all life within an eight-thousand-kilometer radius of each hand. The world is still looking for the culprit behind its almost-destruction, still hungering for justice for the thousands of lives that have been lost to nothingness. The world is still moving, even if he doesn't.

"Please wake up."

He pleads three times each time.

He doesn't hear a response each time.

The burn marks on his body have already stopped hurting but he still doesn't wake up.

He loves him so much.

"…You'll probably laugh at me if you see can see me now."

He looks down at his black robes, chosen so that he can blend in better with environment. He looks down at the sword on his left hip, awkwardness at using the weapon that he doesn't really favor long gone. He looks down at himself and sees nothingness.

"…So yeah, you can sleep a little longer, I guess. You're really lazy, huh."

Each word feels like it's pulled directly from his gut.

He hears the distant sounds of horses neighing.

If he waits a little longer, he'll probably hear either Kouha or Kougyoku leading the fray.

The world is still pursuing them for causing its destruction.

There's no more magic in this world, but his sheer willpower is able to make his left hand move.

He has strength borne out of necessity now.

He carefully carries him to his back, his muscles and bones no longer protesting about the added weight. He secures the straps holding him safe, before he moves on to their luggage.

It will be easier to escape pursuit if he throws some of the things away, but he doesn't. Carrying their weight reminds him of what his past was, what his present is and what his future will be. The robes of royalty, the robe of the black dragon, the metal vessels. He will never throw those away.

He secures the robe obscuring most of his very recognizable face, before he sprints as stealthily as he can. His steps are light despite the load he's carrying. He moves along the shadows cast by the trees and the leaves, thankful that the sunlight is not able to engulf the entire area fully because of the dark clouds overhead.

He used to long for friendship, for camaraderie, for affection.

Now, most of those who he longed those feelings from are now pursuing them.

Magic is gone.

Il Illah is gone.

Their peace is gone.

But their cruel fate remains.

He has been told many things.

He has been told that he can still obtain pardon for his crimes.

He has been told amnesty can still be granted, should he surrender him.

He snarled at their proposals. He broke him out of his imprisonment. He whisked him away even if he doesn't wake up.

He loves him so much.

He has lost so many things.

He's still losing so many things, even now.

He can't lose him, not after all their promises and goals.

He had thought that he only loved him because he was the one and only person who understood him.

He can't lose him now, not after he has realized his real feelings at last.

The robe around his face is slowly slipping down from the quickness of his movements.

If only he's awake, he'll surely find his distress amusing.

If only he's awake, he'll sure find this love funny.

If only he's awake.

His feet carry him to a place in the map that's forbidden from everyone else. The forest is supposed to just suddenly end, with a gaping chasm of blackness rivaling the skies above. The Rift lies ahead and it's just as dark as the _rukh_ that they possess.

He knows that nobody is supposed to go here.

He knows that this is a stupid plan.

He knows.

But he doesn't have anywhere else to go to shake off the pursuers.

He's all alone even if there are two of them here.

He's never been lonelier.

"Please wake up."

He pleads.

The sound of the horses' galloping thunder in his ears even if they're still a fair bit of distance away.

He has already lost so much.

He has already lost himself.

He has already lost.

He already lost his hair that he hasn't cut in all twenty years of his life, but that didn't matter, when he dived in recklessly to shove him out of the attack initiated by Arba's new vessel. He already lost his magic when the world's order spiraled out of control as the entire world became a medium due to the concentration of black rukh. He already lost his left hand when he reached out without hesitation to pull him out of the center of the medium's core. He already lost his left eye when he rescued him from Sinbad's lightning sword.

He had already lost him when he had saved him by pushing him away and he had become the sole core of the medium.

He had already lost himself when he realized that he loved him too.

"Judar-chan!" Kougyoku cries out for him, even if he has never listened to her. "Just surrender, please! Don't do this to yourself! Or to Hakuryuu-chan! We'll talk to Kouen-niisama and make sure you two don't get punished, so _please_ —!"

He had already lost.

He jumps into the deep abyss, his king with him.

If there's even just a shred of hope that he will wake up, he'll take it.

Even if it means losing himself again.

He loves him so.

•••

 _He loves him so._  
Even if he never knows it.  
Even if there's no reason or logic behind it.  
His heart is deceitful above all things.

•••

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY NOT SORRY. *bricked*
> 
> …It's Hakuryuu who's comatose (after he saves Judar from becoming the medium) while Judar becomes more and more like Hakuryuu each day;;;;; Also, Judar's very proud of his long hair, which he hasn't cut before (his hair is also braided by magic). It'd be like the ultimate sacrifice if he let his hair be cut off to save Hakuryuu! Or something OTL
> 
> Uhhh will probably write a sequel where Hakuryuu wakes up because this is too hurtful for my heart. Even if I'm the one who wrote it. OTL


End file.
